


All Dressed Up

by RedRowan



Series: Stars and Horns [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Ballet, Birthday, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Female Matt Murdock, Fluff, Mentions of T'Challa - Freeform, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRowan/pseuds/RedRowan
Summary: T'Challa gives Natasha a generous gift for her birthday.  Unfortunately for Steve and Mattie, it involves ballet and evening wear.





	All Dressed Up

For Natasha’s birthday, they go to the ballet. Not just any ballet, either. T’Challa arranges for box seats at the gala opening of _La Sylphide_ at the Bolshoi, in Moscow. It’s an extravagant gift for a quartet of international fugitives (although probably not for the king of a nation they all suspect is much wealthier than it appears), and undeniably thoughtful as well. Sam teases Natasha about it for a whole day before she threatens to crush his larynx.

T’Challa seems to have thought of everything for Operation Sylphide: he booked a penthouse suite at a luxury hotel near the theatre (which Natasha and Mattie sweep for surveillance), and there are evening clothes waiting for them, with a tailor who stops by to make any last-minute alterations.

And there’s the gigantic bouquet of black and red roses for Natasha. Steve and Sam raise their eyebrows at each other, but fear of the Black Widow stops them from pointing out the obvious. Mattie plays innocent (nobody believes her), and casually drops that the roses haven’t been artificially colored.

“They smell lovely,” she says.

Natasha, for her part, smiles like a Sphinx and gives nothing away.

Just before their room service dinner is supposed to arrive, Steve finds Mattie sitting on the bed in the room they claimed as theirs, her fingers brushing over the evening gown laid out for her.

“What does it look like?” she says softly.

“It’s silver. The beading looks…” Steve isn’t very good at describing women’s clothing. “It’s very intricate.” He checks the label. “It says the designer’s Elie Saab, if that helps?”

Mattie shrugs. “Wouldn’t know him if I walked into him.”

She’s frowning slightly.

“You OK?” he says.

“Never been to the ballet,” she says. “Not sure what I’m going to get out of it. The music, I guess.” Her hand brushes over the dress again. “Last time I wore something like this, I was stealing shit from the Yakuza.”

With Elektra.

“I think we can try to keep the criminal activity to a minimum,” Steve says. He reaches across the bed and takes her hand. “Tell you a secret.”

“What?”

“I never really understood ballet. I went once, in London. Trying to impress Peggy - long story, but I had no idea what was happening.”

That gets her to smile.

“So we’re agreed that we’re just doing this for Nat?” she says.

“And the free champagne.”

“Deal.” She holds out her other hand, and he shakes it.

Natasha and Mattie disappear for what seems like hours after dinner. Steve paces back and forth in the living room, until Sam joins him, looking sharp, as Bucky used to say. (Bucky wouldn’t say that about Sam. He’d say something about the tux looking better on him.) Sam grins and nods approvingly at Steve.

“Clean up pretty well, Rogers.”

“You too.” The color of Steve’s tux is brighter than he’d like; blue, when he’d rather be in black like Sam.

“C’mon, turn around, show off the goods,” Sam grins.

Steve rolls his eyes and turns in a circle as Sam wolf-whistles.

“Very nice,” Natasha drawls from the hallway. Steve completes his turn to see her standing there, and his brain short-circuits a little. He’s seen Natasha in any number of outfits, from her black uniform, to party dresses, to that one time she’d shown up for a mission briefing at the Triskelion wearing only lingerie and a man’s overcoat (she’d had _very_ time-sensitive intel), but this gown is truly breathtaking, emerald green and hugging every curve of her. He loves Nat like a sister, and he sometimes forgets that she treats her beauty as just one more weapon in her arsenal. “You boys make a hell of a pair,” she says.

“Nobody’s going to be looking at _us_ ,” Steve says.

“They _might_ be checking out your ass, that is some very fine tailoring going on,” Sam says, exaggerating a lean around to get a good look.

“Hands off my man, Sam,” comes Mattie’s voice.

“Not touching him,” Sam says. “Just enjoying the view.”

Mattie sweeps in past Natasha, wearing her sparkling dress. If Natasha looks like a femme fatale, then Mattie is some sort of magical, ethereal creature, practically lighting up the air around her with starlight. Steve takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, and tells her she looks beautiful.

Natasha straightens Sam’s tie and brushes some non-existent dust off his shoulder.

“Those Russian trophy wives aren’t going to know what hit them,” she says.

“Hell yeah,” Sam says. “Mattie, how do you say ‘want to get out of here’ in Russian?”

Mattie has been learning Russian from Nat over the past few months, just to pass the time. She smiles as she slips on a pair of lavender-tinted glasses and says something in Russian that makes Nat laugh.

“What’d she say?” Sam says.

“I’m going to guess something dirty,” Steve says, noting the sly quirk of Mattie's lips.

“Let’s just say, it would definitely get you laid,” Nat says.

“Then _somebody’s_ going to have to teach me that in the limo,” Sam says. He offers his arm to Nat.

It takes Steve and Sam ten minutes in the limo to get Mattie to admit that she’d said “Want to fuck in the coat check?”

“I’m so proud,” Nat says.

Steve stares at Mattie and considers the practicality of…fucking in a coat check. He imagines pushing that sparkling fabric up her thighs, pressing her up against…a fur coat, she’d like that, the luxurious texture.

“Why coat check?” Sam says.

“I couldn’t remember the word for limo,” Mattie says.

The Bolshoi Theatre is everything a pair of working-class New Yorkers would imagine. Arched, painted ceilings above them, grand staircases, teeming with wealthy Moscovites. Steve watches a bartender pour champagne across a line of flutes with no consideration for the waste. He tries to describe the surroundings to Mattie, but they don’t want to draw attention to her blindness, so they wind up in a corner nursing flutes of champagne with his arm around her waist. Natasha and Sam, despite arriving arm-in-arm, break apart, and Nat is surrounded by old white men while Sam flirts shamelessly with the overly-made-up younger female companions of said old white men. Mattie wrinkles her nose at the perfume rolling off the women, and Steve’s senses may not be up her level, but it's still an unpleasant mix of scents, and they retreat to the box T’Challa bought for them.

“You OK?” Steve says. It was bad enough for him, he can't imagine how bad it might have been for Daredevil.

Mattie shrugs.

“Kind of like a frat party, to be honest,” she says. The corner of her mouth quirks. “Hormones and booze.”

“At least it’s expensive booze?”

She smiles and shrugs.

But Mattie seems curious enough when the ballet starts. Nat and Sam take the first two seats, and Steve and Mattie sit behind them. Steve does his best to describe the dancing to Mattie, leaning over to murmur in her ear. (“The fairy’s in love with him. Now he’s kissing the new girl. I think they’re engaged. The witch did something, and the fiancee’s angry.”) Intermission, and Mattie opts to stay in her seat. Steve brings her more champagne, and tells her how Sam is _very_ friendly with a very attractive young woman in a very revealing dress.

“Has Nat done a background check on her yet?” Mattie says, grinning as she sips her champagne.

“I’m sure she’s on it.”

Act Two: Steve tells Mattie how everyone is wandering around the woods and dancing. He’s pretty sure he’s not giving the best summary. But midway through the big group dance, Mattie’s head turns sharply, and her hand slams down on Steve’s leg. She squeezes, hard, then stands up, slipping out in a discreet sweep of sparkles.

Steve looks at Nat and Sam. Nat turns her head, and meets Steve’s eyes. She nods almost imperceptibly. Steve nods back, not even sure of what he’s agreeing to, and slips out after Mattie.

She’s in the hall leading down to the boxes, looking delicate and lovely. No, the dress is delicate and lovely, she looks like she could move mountains.

“Someone called us in,” she says. “I think it was one of the women Sam was hitting on.”

Steve nods. “OK, we can make fun of him later. Anyone on their way?”

She nods. “Not sure which agency, but it sounds like it’s just the Russians.”

He hears the subtext. None of the (current) Avengers. None of Ross’ people.

And with that, Operation Sylphide has a new mission objective: don't let anyone ruin Natasha’s birthday.

“Can we take them out?” he says.

She cocks her head.

“Not sure. Depends on who they send. Should be here in five minutes.”

Steve nods. “Is the bar still open?”

It is, and a few wealthy patrons of the arts are lingering in the lobbies, but Mattie leans her head into him.

“It's not a retrieval team," she says softly. “They’re not sure it’s us, so they sent some agents to check up on the sighting.”

Steve puts his arm around her waist and leans in close.

“Can you tell which ones?” he says.

“The two men who’re here stag,” she says. Steve glances around, and yes, there are two men in suits lurking about the lobby alone.

“Think we can take ‘em out without anyone noticing?” he says in her ear.

She laughs, her hand resting low on his belly, and he really wants to just bend her over the bar right here.

“Want me to take point?” she whispers.

“Go for it, Daredevil.”

He watches her stride away, sparkling silver. He notes the pairs of eyes that follow her, and says into his champagne flute, “My two o’clock. Take him out first.” He approaches some of the well-heeled audience members in the lobby and strikes up a conversation in broken English and French. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the agent at his two o’clock disappear when a slim arm protrudes from behind a column. The agent reappears, flopped into a chair, a moment later. The second agent circles around the bar, and Steve sees in his peripheral vision a cascade of sparkles, like raindrops caught in a streetlight. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees the men’s room door closing sharply. Steve smiles at the woman in the couple he’s talking to, and asks her in French about her time in Africa.

A moment later, Mattie appears at his side, two fresh champagne flutes in her hands.

“Honey, did you want another one?” she says.

The couple excuse themselves to go back into the ballet, and Steve takes a sip of champagne.

“All clear?”

“Neither of them got a call out," she says. She opens her purse, and pulls out two phones. Steve takes them and turns them off before depositing them in the nearest trashcan.

“Want to go back in?”

Mattie shrugs. “Sure. I mean, it’s almost done, right?”

“I think we’ve got another hour.”

“What, seriously?” She looks genuinely alarmed.

“We can stay out here and drink some more, if you want.”

Mattie takes a thoughtful sip. Then she says something in Russian - the same sentence she’d told Sam to use.

Steve glances around the lobby and sees the coat check, still manned by a staff member.

“Maybe not the coat check,” he says neutrally.

She smiles and takes his hand, leading him through the lobby. Up the grand staircase, then she’s tugging him to the side, into the women’s restroom. He locks the door as he pushes her up against it, then sweeps her up so that her legs are wrapped around him, silver beaded fabric sliding up her thighs. When he moves his hand up, he finds that she’s not wearing any underwear.

“Were you planning this?” he whispers as he slides his fingers between her legs.

She shakes her head, brushing her nose against his. “Nat said all of my underwear would show through the dress.”

They don’t have a condom, so they make do with hands, mouths fastened together. Then it’s a quick cleanup, and they slip back into the box in time for the final dance. Sam glances over his shoulder and gives Steve a look that’s half-impressed and half-exasperated.

When the lights come up, Nat just smiles knowingly as she stands up. Steve waits for the teasing.

“I know a bar,” Nat says instead. “It's very discreet, if we’re up for a nightcap?”

On the way to the bar, Nat and Sam debate the merits of the production. Steve and Mattie can’t really contribute. 

“How do you know so much about ballet?” Steve asks Sam skeptically.

“I have culture!” Sam says. “Unlike the two of you Philistines.” He gives them a look that says he knows exactly what they were up to in the restroom. Natasha snickers. Steve smiles over at Mattie, and decides not to correct any assumptions that have been made.

Mattie points towards Sam. “It was your mom, wasn’t it? She’s got a subscription to the Lincoln Centre, or something?”

“Yes, and I learned to _appreciate_ classical dance from her. Oh, speaking of which -“ He and Nat trail off on another assessment of the performance. As they debate the relative merits of the male lead dancer, Mattie leans against Steve’s shoulder. He wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head as he reflects that Nat looks happier than she has in a while.

“We did good, Daredevil,” he murmurs against her hair.

Mission accomplished.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little seed that's been germinating for a while. I kind of wanted to check back in with this ridiculous bunch.


End file.
